


Before I Remember I Hate You

by howsyasister



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: D/s undertones, Fingering, M/M, PWP, Post-Split, Power Play, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2091432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howsyasister/pseuds/howsyasister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Self-indulgent smut written because Dean Ambrose has some fantastic hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before I Remember I Hate You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Damien for the inspiration. Thanks to Lucy for the encouragement.

Seth could have sworn there was so much more air in the room about ten minutes ago. Something about Dean Ambrose with a lube-slicked hand, invading his pants and ruining his fucking underwear, though, seems to have created some sort of vacuum that may be rooted in the way he’s got Seth gasping now.

Seth had let him into the locker room so they could have a conversation. Honest. And maybe punch a little. And maybe Ambrose had pinned him up against the wall with a forceful and grinding thigh, and then maybe Seth had let his guard down as Dean slid to his knees, nuzzling and mouthing at his crotch through his sweatpants like the perfect picture of desperation. And maybe, just maybe, Dean still knows him well enough to know that he’s a dumbass and still keeps lube in his bag from when they fooled around like idiots wherever the fuck they could, and fished it out while Seth was so thoroughly distracted.

“I think you miss me a bit more than you let on,” he’d purred as he popped back up into Seth’s face, leaning against him from chest to knees, sneaking his thigh right back between Seth’s like that’s where it fucking belongs, and god, it feels like it belongs. Dean tapped the bottle against Seth’s shoulder, and suddenly the flush on his face wasn’t just from arousal. Utterly mortified, but unwilling to give Dean a sense of satisfaction about it, he’d just arched an eyebrow.

“You gonna make fun of me, or are you gonna do something with that?” He rolled his hips, not shy about dragging his still-hardening cock up Dean’s thigh, biting his lip at the friction from fabric. Apparently, that was a good reaction to have, because he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

So now, here Seth is, with Dean’s thumb massaging behind his balls and the tip of his middle finger pressing in slowly but insistently. Dimly, he figures Dean’s hand has to cramp eventually, and he’ll be spared having to come in his sweatpants and on his worst fucking nightmare’s wrist. That’s at the back of his mind, though. At the front, his attention is split up in the best worst way, and he’s stuck shivering dumbly between Dean’s lips and teeth at his neck and the way he’s meticulously being eased open. He can feel Ambrose’s fingertip pressing forward, toward himself, and he knows exactly what the bastard is trying to do. It sends a surge of irritation and gratitude through him, that Dean knows exactly what he’s doing. He gets a fist in Dean’s hair, like that’s going to change the fact that he’s short of breath and bearing down against the finger inside of him. 

Dean works his finger around in slow, tortuous circles, stretching Seth, but denying him the feeling of fullness, like he thinks he might get his former partner to beg or something. Seth bites down on his lip as he exhales sharply through his nose, refusing to say a word. The tiny rockings of his hips say entirely too much, though, and have Dean half-laughing against Seth’s skin. The finger pulls out of Seth and, in a way that’s more teasing than tentative, Seth’s former favorite lunatic presses two fingertips at his hole, slipping over it a time or two before pressing inside again. 

Things are cramped. Seth can feel lube smearing between his thighs and over his underwear, and he’s got his cheek pressed to Dean’s temple and everything feels too hot and close. He tries hitching his leg up, just feeling the need to be spread a tiny bit more, and a growl from where Dean’s teeth are scraping his collarbone surprises him. Dean’s hand has stilled, wrist held tight to Seth’s stomach by his waistband and, yeah, this isn’t working anymore.

“On the floor. Pants off and get on the fucking floor.”

“You- you think you can order me around, Ambrose?” Seth damns his lack of oxygen.

“I think you wanna come, and I think you look hot trying to ride my fingers. So get on the fucking floor before I remember I hate you.” And Seth takes no argument in that. He shucks his pants and underwear, grimacing slightly when the excess lube smears down his thighs, then yanks his shirt off, because it frankly feels weird to be pantsless with a shirt on. When he turns to peek at Dean before getting on the floor, it dawns on him that Dean is still very clothed, and he’s having second and third thoughts. Dean sees Seth's discomfort. Hell, the freak can probably smell it.

"No floor? Fine. No floor." That wasn't quite what Seth had been trying to not say, but it doesn't really matter as Dean bodily turns him around and presses against his back, leaning forward against him until Seth's got to brace his elbows against the wall just to keep his face off of it. He can feel Dean's hips grind against his bare ass and, okay, maybe it's a bit of an ego boost to feel him hard through his jeans and know that it's just from what he's doing to Seth and how Seth's reactions turn him on. He feels Dean's weight shift to one leg behind him, then hears the scrape of chair legs across the floor and his stomach drops. Waves of dread over what Ambrose has in mind next roll over him as Dean plops into the chair he's pulled up, leaving his hands on Seth's hips. 

Turns out, it's not as bad as it could be. Seth feels like he's on display for his sincerest enemy to degrade, but he's rewarded for this almost-trust thing he's doing with the shock of a tongue dragging over his hole. The muscles in his back jump, and his thighs twitch, but Dean holds him steady and open and presses on with a soft hum and a few deceptively sweet kisses. Seth relaxes in spite of himself, sighing quietly and resting his head against his forearm. Dean tries again with his tongue, starting to work it in slowly, in deliberate circles, and Seth regrets every time he's ever implied that Dean is anything less than a hero and an upstanding gentleman. He tries to just exhale, but a shaky noise comes out, unbidden, on his breath, and apparently Dean likes that. He drags his tongue up from the underside of Seth's balls, letting the tip of it catch at his hole, and he fucking shivers, heels scooting a little farther apart.

"So cute when you're eager," Dean murmurs at the edge of Seth's hearing, in between torturous spirals of his tongue. Seth thinks his legs might give out. "I bet I could sit you down on my dick right now and you'd ride it so good." He hates when Dean is right.

He pulls his face back, and Seth whimpers, rocking his hips. In consolation, Dean pushes two fingers back into him, easy and firm, humming at the slick heat, and that certainly eases Seth's concerns. He can't stop the low groan that works out of him as Dean stretches gently, massaging along the the front wall of him. Seth isn’t sure when his head came to rest against the wall, but the cool smoothness of it is a slice of heaven, while the devil himself stretches him open with fingers that twist and press and rub so damn well. His breath is coming in heavy pants, and he does his best to rock against Dean’s fingers, only to jolt at the sudden sting of a slap to his ass.

“Hold still. Your knees are gonna give out, as is.” Seth can hear the taunting in Dean’s voice, but there are no words he can summon against him as a third finger is pushed inside of him and wow, that is a lovely sort of fullness. There’s a wicked shake to his thighs again, and his ass still sort of tingles in the open air, and he really doesn’t remember being into that, but as Dean grips so tight to his hip and his fingers keep rubbing over his goddamn prostate with purpose, coaxing the coiling heat in his stomach to wind tighter and tighter, he passively accepts that everyone enjoys a quality spank now and again. Seth’s breathing is growing heavier and quicker, and he’s beyond accidental gasping out sounds. His mouth is running entirely without his permission, and he isn’t quite sure when it started.

“-Oh Christ, fuck. Harder. Harder, like that-"

“You watch too much porn, Seth.” Again, with the teasing. “Is that all the dirty talk you got?”

Seth tries arguing with gusto, this time, but all that comes out is a gasp and a shout of a moan. Dean Ambrose fights dirty. He’s putting pressure on the spot behind Seth’s balls again, and frankly abusing his prostate, at this point, and Seth doesn’t feel like he has enough air in his lungs to make all the noise he’s pretty sure he physically needs to make. His nails dig uselessly at the wall and his ignored cock throbs as Dean picks him apart like so much meat off a bone. Things are staying to get a bit uncomfortable, but he swears he can take the soreness, if Dean just hurries up and actually touches his cock. He outright whines when, instead of that, Dean pulls his fingers out altogether. 

"Fuck! I was so- I was so close, fuck. What the hell-"

"Needed more lube," Dean replies simply, voice so steady and even compared to Seth's. "Wouldn't want to hurt you, Princess." He slides two freshly slick fingers back in, then a third, going so damned slow again. "I bet you'd just love it if I fucked you right now."

"Please-" He's not above begging anymore. His head is cloudy, his body is needy, and everything in him is screaming for more Dean, the way it does only when he's alone these days. "Please. I'll ride you so hard. You know I know what you love." 

"Tempting, but I'm gonna pass. Oop-" Seth peeks over his shoulder with hazy eyes, and his heart leaps when he finally sees Ambrose’s stupid hand reaching for his dick. He feels the tip of a finger swipe at his slit, swabbing away a bead of pre, then he licks his finger clean. "You were dripping a bit. Don't wanna make a mess." It dawns on Seth that that's all is dick is getting, and he screws his eyes shut tight and presses his head against the wall again. "Aw, don't pout, babe."

Dean starts to concern himself less with fucking Seth with his fingers and more with making damn sure he's giving as much attention as possible to the spot inside of Seth that gets his toes curling. Grabbing hard at the meat of one of Seth's thighs, Dean leans in again and traces his tongue as far as he can around his fingers, and god, it's so much. His back arches and his hands curl into tight fists against the wall, and he isn't sure his eyes are working right now, but that is so unimportant. He needs to hold onto Dean- needs to ground himself. One hand reaches behind himself to tangle in Dean's hair, and it's a heady rush. His cock twitches at the quiet moan Dean makes against him from a rough hair pull, and he's so close, so goddamned close. His back is pulled tight in an arch, shoulders hitched to his ears, and the coil of heat in his stomach feels like it's about to shred him. 

"I know you wanna come for me, baby. Come on. Go fuckin' nuts."

Seth doesn't need much more encouragement than the rasp of Dean's voice. Some things never change. With a yell he only kind of tries to quiet, everything snaps all at once. He comes hard around Dean's fingers, still massaging him through it all, smearing the wall in front of him with jizz. His heartbeat almost hurts in his oversensitive body, and he's only barely aware of Dean catching him when his knees finally do give out, helpfully easing him to kneel with elbows and head resting on a chair. Everything is a sort of warm, generally positive smudge, as he sits, quivering, on the ground to recover. Hell, he might say thanks, if his everything wasn't too pleasantly tingly to work. 

"Sweet dreams, muffin. Come find me when your sugar daddy doesn't turn you out like I do. You know where I am."

Dean shuts the door behind him, at least that courteous. He'll go slink off somewhere and jack off while Seth comes slowly back to earth and hating Dean and having a miserable time sleeping without him, debating whether he should take advantage of never having actually deleted the scumbag's number.


End file.
